Out of the Blue
by Helga Von Nutwimple
Summary: Buffy and Willow come to W&H to warn Fred about Illyria, only to discover that Angel's come down with a bad case of puppet and a certain peroxided vampire isn't quite as dead as they thought.
1. Bad Passwords

"Damn," Willow sighed, her fingers flying over the keys of her laptop. "I'll say this for the evil corporation -- firewalls out the wazoo. Andrew, how's the password thing coming?"  
  
"It's up to 'S'," Andrew replied, squinting into his own screen. "Looks like they're pretty good about getting their employees to use non-dictionary passwords."  
  
Dawn turned another page in her book. "So this Wolfram & Hart is what... the official law firm of evil? What makes them worse than normal lawyers?"  
  
"That's what we're trying to discover," Giles pulled down another book. "Angel has either become an extraordinarily powerful ally... or an incredibly dangerous foe."  
  
"Do you think 'Wolfram & Hart' might be the same as 'Wolf, Ram, and Hart', like the animals? Cause if it is, I might have found something," Dawn pushed the book across the table.  
  
"Wolf, Ram, and Hart," Giles murmured, pulling Dawn's book closer. "I'd be surprised if that were mere coincidence."  
  
"See?" Xander smiled wistfully. "Anya warned us bunnies were evil."  
  
"Giles?" Buffy called from the kitchen. "Your kettle is doing the noise thing!"  
  
"Ah, will you take it off and..."  
  
"Warm the teapot, yeah, yeah..." Buffy broke off, her voice softening. "Oh... you still have the 'kiss the librarian' mug..."  
  
"I'm in, I'm in!" Andrew squealed. "Somebody used 'unicorn' as their system password..."  
  
"What can you get?"  
  
"Ummm..." Andrew's eyes slid back and forth. "Here's the human resources stuff... employee files, that sort of thing..."  
  
Buffy reappeared in the doorway. "Can you pull Angel's?"  
  
"Hang on..." Andrew tapped keys. "Got it. Nothing all that weird here... apparently they took over Wolfram & Hart right after Sunnydale pulled an Alderaan..."  
  
"What about the rest of Angel's team?" Giles asked.  
  
"Um... one sec... okay, here's Wesley... Gunn..." Andrew sighed. "These files are all pretty vanilla... like, sanitized for your evil... Fred, um, Fred's lab coat boyfriend, Lorne..."  
  
"Back up," Buffy said suddenly. "The last one. The guy. The... non-green guy."  
  
Andrew backtracked, and Knox's personnel file re-appeared on screen.  
  
"These aren't even _real_," Buffy sighed. "_That_ guy's been dead for almost two years."  
  
"No, he's not. I met him."  
  
"That's _Holden Webster_. Believe me, he's very dead. I dusted him myself."  
  
"Knox is a _vampyre_? He sure didn't look like a..."  
  
"Not _is_. _Was_. Spike sired him, I dusted him..."  
  
"But if _Spike_ sired him, he'd..." Andrew trailed off, biting his lip. "Never mind."  
  
Willow peered out from behind her laptop. "I thought you said the guy was a psych major? What's he doing at a law firm?"  
  
"Well... _that's_ not Holden Webster, for starters," Xander said, catching a glimpse of the screen. "Webs was _never_ that good-looking."  
  
"Look, I'm telling you, it's Holden Webster. We had a big talk. It was a thing."  
  
"Not unless he grew two feet after senior year, changed eye colors and had radical plastic surgery," Xander insisted. "_Holden Webster_ made _Jonathan_ look like _Riley_."  
  
"This is _Knox_, Buffy, seriously," Andrew chimed in. "He's right below Fred in the Wolfram & Hart science department. We talked about Stargate. He's kinda cu... _cool_. Cool. He's got the best toys in that lab..."  
  
Buffy blinked. "Did Holden Webster have a twin brother?"  
  
"_No_, and if he did, he'd probably look like Holden Webster... which this guy completely does _not_. C'mon, Buff, you remember _Holden_. Looked like a leprechaun? Flaming red afro? Always wore those green Converse hi-tops?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, green shoe guy!" Andrew grinned. "I remember _him_! Knox is _so_ not him."  
  
"I talked to this guy for _hours_, okay?" Buffy protested. "He told me his name was Holden Webster!"  
  
"Maybe he said his name was Harry Webman or Horace Wooster and you, y'know, got the names a little confused," Willow said. "Too bad all our yearbooks got sucked into a hell-crater..."  
  
"It was definitely Holden Webster, and he was definitely a vampire, and I definitely killed him. Look, you guys... I'm _not_ crazy!"  
  
"Well, as investigating the evil law firm goes, it's certainly a place to begin," Giles pointed out. "Can you -- do that computer thing you do on him?"  
  
"Computer thing, comin' up..." Willow bit her lip, then looked up. "Anybody object if I give this a magic goose, get us to the good stuff?"  
  
"Just be careful." Giles pushed his chair back. "I'll see about the tea."  
  
The keyboard glowed as Willow's hands hovered over its surface, her eyes seeming to focus on a distant point. "Okay, I'm in... his personal directory... geez, obsess much?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"He's got a major happy for something called _Illyria_. Tons and tons of files about it."  
  
Dawn leaned over Willow's shoulder. "Given that this is the company o' evil, I'm guessing this isn't a cool new MMORPG?"  
  
Willow's head tipped back, her eyelids fluttering. "Hang on... searching for 'Holden Webster' is returning some files..."  
  
"See?" Buffy cried. "Told you I wasn't crazy."  
  
Willow pulled her hands back, breathing heavily. "Get Giles in here."  
  
"Not good?"  
  
"Thirty-one flavors of not good."

* * *

"And he wants to put this Old One... in _Buffy_," Giles sighed, polishing his glasses at breakneck speed.  
  
"He needs a shell that can withstand having a God placed in it," Willow shrugged. "He thought the Slayer would be a perfect choice. But he wanted to meet her first, see her in action."  
  
"He asked me a million questions..." Buffy rolled the 'Kiss the Librarian' mug back and forth in her palms. "What I don't understand is, how'd I dust the guy?"  
  
"Glamour spell," Willow replied. "He talks about it in the notes."  
  
"Jonathan used to do those," Andrew said wistfully. "He was so good at them..."  
  
"So why _didn't_ he stick the Old One in Buffy?" Xander asked.  
  
"Well, he needs a _thing_. A sarcophagus-thing, with Illyria's... essence, I guess? In it. And he doesn't have it yet. The thing is... he doesn't want to put Illyria in Buffy anymore."  
  
"What, am I not good enough for his hell-god now? Failed his little psych test?"  
  
"No, he thought you were great. _Totally_ worthy to be destroyed by the hell-god. Sure he'd let you list him as a reference. But... he's fallen in love with Fred. He wants to put the hell-god in _her_ now, Buffy... we've gotta warn her."  
  
"Okay," Buffy said. "Let's get on the phone."  
  
"You should go," Andrew blurted. "Don't call. You should just _go_. Don't even tell them you're coming. Just show up. Element of surprise."  
  
Giles set the teapot back down with a sigh. "Andrew, I rather think it would be easier and more prudent to..."  
  
"Hello? Evil? They've probably got wiretaps on all the phones, a-and little cameras in the offices, a-and what if something goes down? You tip off Fred, she confronts Mr. 'I Heart Hellgods 4-Ever' with no backup? Best case scenario, he skedaddles, worse case, he goes all Weird Science on her. You just need to go in and take him out."  
  
"I can't take on a whole evil corporation by myself, Andrew..."  
  
"Yeah... speaking as someone who's been on the pointy end of another 'Mr. I Heart Hellgods 4-Ever'?" Dawn groaned. "Not a fun date."  
  
"I'm not saying _storm the bridge_! Just... just pretend you're there to see Angel. I really don't think he's evil, Buffy. He'll probably take on Knox himself, a dark leather swirl of righteous wrath, his muscles rippling as he..."  
  
"Stop, stop right there," Xander groaned. "Beyond the rippling muscles part, Andrew does sorta have a point, Buff."  
  
"I really liked Fred," Willow added. "And if we go there in person, we can see the evil-or-not for ourselves. I've got a pretty good evil sniffer."  
  
"It would certainly be quicker than our current inquiries," Giles mused. "Or a trap."  
  
"It's _not_ a trap," Andrew insisted. "And even if it were, _someone_ would rescue you..."  
  
Giles sighed. "I've met Angelus, Andrew. He's not much on heroic rescuing."  
  
"I'm not talking about _Angel_, I'm... uh... Wesley likes you! He used to be your Watcher, right?"  
  
"You're being even weirder than usual..." Dawn's eyes narrowed.  
  
"I _would_ feel better if I could see Angel with my own eyes," Buffy said. "This whole not knowing if he's gone evil or not gives me the wiggins."  
  
"Should I make with the Travelocity?" Willow asked, hands returning to her keyboard.  
  
"Huh. Fight a hell-god, go up against a possibly evil Angel, investigate a powerful secret organization? It's a vacation in the land of deja vu. Book 'em, Willow."

* * *

"Wow," Willow said in awe as they stepped onto the elevator. "And I was impressed by the hotel."  
  
Buffy trailed her hands over the carved mahogany wainscoting. "Yeah... looks like we were wrong. Evil pays after all."  
  
"Y'know, somehow I expected a fortress of evil to be less... _beige_."  
  
"Don't worry, it's still evil." Buffy pointed her finger at the roof of the elevator. "Check the Muzak -- Barry Manilow. We're definitely in a hotbed of badness."  
  
"I don't know. I was just thinking there'd be more..."  
  
The elevator doors opened, and Willow's brow wrinkled. "... adorable puppets?"  
  
The puppet whirled at the sound of Willow's voice, plush eyebrows skyrocketing a moment before it dove through an office doorway.  
  
"Well, two seconds in and you've terrified the Muppet," Willow said gleefully. "We're gonna _own_ this place."  
  
"Willow... did that puppet... look familiar?"  
  
"Looked sorta like Guy Smiley..."  
  
Buffy stepped out of the elevator, stalking towards the office with Willow in hot pursuit. "Hello? Stuffed Guy? Can we talk?"  
  
"Go away," the puppet replied in a falsetto voice.  
  
"I'm looking for Angel, and I..."  
  
Suddenly, the doorway behind them was filled with a green-skinned, horned demon. "Angelcakes? I need to talk to... oh, hey, if it isn't that ol' Red magic! Long time no see!"  
  
The high, tinny voice again. "Angel's not here..."  
  
"Oh, for cryin' out loud, Angel, everybody already knows you've gone Sesame Street, you can quit hiding under the desk. I'm getting your signature on this requisition if I have to wrap your little fluffy fingers around the pen myself."  
  
A resigned groan, and a shock of black puppet hair appeared over the edge of the desk, the puppet hauling himself into the chair.  
  
"Oh, so cute!" Willow squeaked, and found herself the recipient of puppet glare.  
  
"Lorne," Angel said in his normal voice, "I'd like you to meet _Buffy Summers_."  
  
"Buffy..." Lorne took a step backwards, realizing. "Buffy. _The_ Buffy. Who, I'm guessing, didn't know about the whole... puppet situation. Right-o. Maybe we can talk about that requisition later, Angelbear... can I get you ladies anything? Sea Breeze? They're delicious... I'll let myself out."  
  
"Go ahead, laugh," Angel moaned, his face hitting the desk with a pillowy thump. "I know you want to."  
  
"Considering I thought I might be coming here to confront Angelus? Cute and snuggly, not so much of a disappointment," Buffy said gently. "Can I ask, though..."  
  
"It's a whole... puppet thing," Angel sighed. "Not such a great day for a visit... not that we really have good ones..."  
  
"Well, we've actually come to make your day much worse... so... happy to see us?" Willow grinned.  
  
"Not really in any shape to assist with an apocalypse. Unless you need things loudly counted in a Transylvanian accent."  
  
"It's nothing like that," Buffy said quickly. "It's one of your employees, up to major badness."  
  
"Well, that sounds like 98 of them..."  
  
"This one's after Fred."  
  
Angel looked between the two of them, heaved a sigh and smacked his plush hand down onto his phone.  
  
"Guys? Get in here."

* * *

"Is this everybody?" Willow asked, looking around the conference table at Angel, Lorne, Fred, Gunn, and Wesley.  
  
"I wish," Angel muttered. "No, he's just..."  
  
"Sorry I'm late, Peaches," a voice called from the other room. "Was winin' n' dinin' your bint. Well, mostly tossin' raw steak through the bars of her cage, but she had that look in her eye. Y'know, werewolves? No bloody table manners, none at..."  
  
Spike froze mid-word in the conference room doorway, his mouth hanging open.  
  
Buffy blinked.  
  
And blinked again.  
  
He was still there, looking as catatonic as she felt.  
  
The silence stretched out, moments ticking by.  
  
"Spike?" Willow whispered.  
  
"Uh..." Lorne said carefully, "I'm guessing no one told them about Blondie Bear's re-entrance into the land of the living?"  
  
Willow just stared. "How... how long?"  
  
"I believe it was... nineteen days after you closed the Hellmouth?" Wesley said, looking at Fred and Gunn for confirmation.  
  
Buffy wasn't even aware she'd stood up and punched Spike until he hit the ground.

* * *

"Bloody hell," Spike protested as soon as he'd regained consciousness and realized he was being dragged across the Wolfram & Hart lobby by the collar of his duster. "Did you drink the special beer again?"  
  
"Kick his ass, Buffy!" Harmony called cheerfully, raising her pink pouf-tipped pen in salute.  
  
Moments later, he was being thrown through a doorway, to land ungracefully in a sprawl across a conference table. "Y'know, I think that was an important meeting..."  
  
"Willow knows more about it than I do anyway," Buffy spat, slamming the door behind her.  
  
"I thought we'd agreed to end the cycle of violence, pet?"  
  
"That was before you came back from the dead and didn't even _call me_!"  
  
Spike scrambled up into a sitting position, shrugging his duster into place. "Uh, yeah... about that..."  
  
Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, daggers shooting out of her eyeballs.  
  
"Look, love," Spike protested, "I was gonna... well... in my defense, I had this whole ghost thing where I couldn't get out of L.A..."  
  
"You didn't feel like a ghost."  
  
"Not a bloody ghost anymore... and _why_ do you always go for the nose?"  
  
Buffy glared directly at his balls. "You want me to branch out?"  
  
"No... no... nose is good..." Spike pulled his duster protectively over his tenderer bits. "So, uh... how've you been?"  
  
"Oh -- utterly miserable. You?"  
  
"But... we _won_! And now you're not the only Chosen One anymore, you can have that real life you always wanted..."  
  
"Yeah, we won! Woo-hoo! And I lost one of my best friends, and the guy I'm in love with -- that's you, by the way! Dances of merriment all around!"  
  
"Well I..." Spike blinked. "What?"  
  
"You heard me. And if you pull some lousy 'no you don't' crap, I'm gonna kick you so hard they'll be finding your teeth in Siberia."  
  
"Y'know, love, you've got a funny way with declarations. Don't recall the campaign goin' 'Say It With Death Threats'..."  
  
"Says the guy who chained me up and threatened to feed me to his psycho ho-bag ex?"  
  
"Okay, point there..."  
  
"What are you doing here with Angel? You _hate_ Angel. And hello, livin' la vida cubicle? _So_ not you, and why is Angel a puppet? And why is Harmony here? And Angel's dating a werewolf? You know, I'm looking around, and you know what I see besides beige and suits and evil? Phones! Phones on every desk! Phones on the wall! Fax machines! Computers! It's a communicapalooza!"  
  
"Buffy..."  
  
"You're telling me you have time to play _zookeeper _to Angel's hairy new squeeze, and not enough time for 'Hey, Buffy, it's Spike, I'm not dead, call me back?'"  
  
"Buffy..."  
  
"Don't you 'Buffy' me! Make with the explainy, right now!"  
  
"Why don't _you _bloody..." Spike winced, "'make with the explainy'?"  
  
"I'm not the one who..."  
  
"Balls!" Spike said fiercely. "Not joinin' the poof's fan club, but what the _hell_, Buffy? The great poncy git's been watchin' your back for eight years, runnin' your precious second front, supposed to be your bleedin' tragic soulmate, and you don't even call him when you find out he's taken over Evil Incorporated? Not one bloody postcard of the Coliseum with an 'Italy's nice, heard you'd gone evil, wish you were here?' Instead you send _Andrew_ and the girl power team, and you're surprised I might have gotten the impression that you'd gone off the undead?"  
  
"You've been back _way_ longer than..."  
  
"Yeah, I have. An' I was a bloody _ghost_, wasn't I? You told me yourself, Buffy. You didn't like _me_, you only liked what I could do to you, do for you. Well, I couldn't bloody do _anything! _Took me months to learn to pick up a soddin' _mug._ All I _was_ was me, Buffy." Spike took a deep breath, his voice softening. "If you'd rejected _that_... I'da known, wouldn't I? Woulda known all you ever wanted me for was throwin' punches and... other things."  
  
"Spike," Buffy breathed in horror.  
  
"An' here I was, bloody _useless_, can't fight, can't help... and I found people who liked me anyway. Soul's about_ guilt_, innit? Not just for killin' people. I tried to leave, tried to go back to you, even booked a ticket... tried to say 'Hey, people who treated me like a person even when I wasn't one, thanks for puttin' yourselves in danger to save me, know you're all fightin' the good fight and could really use my help, but now that I'm cured you can all piss off... an' I couldn't bloody do it in the end, could I?"  
  
"You owe me twenty bucks," said a soft southern voice in the doorway.  
  
"Oh, _hell_," Spike swore, turning to face it. "Hey, Fred."  
  
The corners of Fred's mouth quirked. "Hate the 'bloody' lot of us, huh?"  
  
"You weren't supposed to... don't tell," he pleaded.  
  
"Sorry to tell you this, Spike, but I think the secret that you're not a complete asshole has already gotten out," Fred clucked her tongue sorrowfully, shaking her head. "Gonna be _so_ bad for your image..."  
  
"Can't stand any of you wankers," Spike tried.  
  
"Really? Hey, you wanna come back to the meeting? Turns out, Knox is trying to kill me..."  
  
Fred caught him as he surged out the door. "Meeting first, rip Knox to shreds for threatening that girl you can't stand later. Come back to the meeting before I tell Angel you defended him to Buffy."  
  
"You _wouldn't_."  
  
"Just might..." Fred teased, grabbing his hand and tugging it. "C'mon."  
  
Spike looked over his shoulder as Fred led him away. "Comin', Slayer?"  
  
"Yeah, I..." Buffy trailed off, watching their backs as he and Fred shared a grin. "I'm right behind you."


	2. Willow: The Puppet Slayer

"I... killed... a _puppet_," Willow gasped in horror.  
  
"_Evil_ puppet," Fred said consolingly, patting her on the back.  
  
"Still. I thought the _Chumash_ made me feel guilty, but now... how'm I gonna look Kermit in the eye after this?"  
  
"Maybe you ought to go contract, pet," Spike raised his glass to her, grinning. "Kermit'd probably hire you to take out that bitch Piggy."  
  
"Kermit loves Piggy!"  
  
"Balls! That was only in the bloody movies, they said on the show..." Spike raised an eyebrow down the table at Angel's chuckle. "Pissed I'm pickin' on the relatives, Peaches?"  
  
"I'm just constantly amazed at the ways you've found to waste the daylight hours."  
  
"Pardon me for not broodin' around readin' Proust. 'Sides, it made Dru laugh."  
  
"You read Proust," Angel growled.  
  
"Yeah, but I understood it the first time, didn't I? Didn't feel the need to carry it around with me for decades yelpin' 'Hey, look at the book I'm readin'! I'm _deeeeeep_!'"  
  
"Cause that would cut into your valuable _Passions_ time."  
  
"Yeah, _Passions_ is designed to appeal to the masses. Like Dickens. N' Shakespeare."  
  
"You did _not_ just compare _Passions_ and _Hamlet_."  
  
"Why not? Murder, betrayal, people fakin' crazy, pretty girls offin' themselves? Sounds like sweeps week to me."  
  
"You've never understood --"  
  
"'Cause you're bloody stuck up --"  
  
"Are they gonna kill each other?" Willow whispered to Gunn.  
  
"Angel and Spike?" Gunn chuckled. "Maybe someday. But don't let 'em fool you. They're enjoying this."  
  
"Spend all your time playing Playstation..."  
  
"Bint cut off my hands! It was therapy!"  
  
"So, what's the sitch on Knox?" Willow asked, attempting to drown out the bickering vampires.  
  
Gunn's face stretched in a slow, dangerous smile. "Security's got him in lockdown. Consider it the welcome mat to his new world of hurt."  
  
"And we're all rather eager to be his tour guides," Wesley added, an identical purr of malice beneath his quiet tones.  
  
Buffy trailed her finger along the edge of her drink, her eyes flying around the table.  
  
When had stuffy, tweedy old Wesley acquired that soft-spoken-but-dangerous _edge_ that was... she couldn't _believe_ she was thinking this... pretty freakin' sexy?  
  
How in the hell had Angel and Spike gone from mortal enemies to... bickering siblings? The grudging, unspoken affection between them was nearly palpable.  
  
It was bizarre to see Angel, who'd always hovered on the edges of the Scoobies, smack-dab in the middle of his own team... which made the inclusion of Spike just twice as freaky. The familiarity, the camraderie, the constant inside jokes that set them all off laughing yet left her blinking in confusion... it was worse than being the fifth wheel. Everyone seemed... _wary_ of her, walking on eggshells, like she was the freak ex-girlfriend who'd suddenly shown up uninvited at the party, and...  
  
Oh. That was kind of exactly what she was, wasn't it?  
  
And _Spike_... laughing and joking and smirking, telling stories, flowing with the rhythm of the _them_, teasing Gunn and sharing eye-rolls with Wesley and winking at Fred and needling Angel...  
  
Even Willow seemed to slip in better than she did; she'd apparently been there for some of what they were discussing, knew them better, got the jokes or could get them with a few sentences of explanation.  
  
And Buffy felt... really, really _alone_, like they were in a bubble of laughter and warmth and shared memories she just couldn't penetrate... and part of her wanted to smash it, just yank Spike out and remind him that he was _hers...  
  
That's not your world. You belong in the shadows, with me...  
  
_Oh, man... she _so_ did not want this epiphany. Could she swap the looming epiphany for another Cosmopolitan?  
  
"Everybody done here?" Angel asked, surveying the table. "We should probably get back, get some sleep. We can get started on the Illyria thing tomorrow."  
  
They grabbed purses and jackets... Buffy's heart did a funny little flip-flop watching Spike shrug into the duster... and headed out of the restaurant.  
  
Which was when she noticed it... the position Spike took unconsciously, to the right and just behind Angel, his eyes roaming the restaurant appraisingly.  
  
Spike had Angel's back.  
  
Just like he used to have hers.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"These are the guest suites," Angel said, pressing a key into Willow's hand. "Everything you need should be in your rooms, but if you have any problems, you can dial 59. That's my apartment, and I'm just one floor up."  
  
"So... do you guys all live here?" Willow asked, examining the etched 'W&H' on the keyring.  
  
"Some of us," Gunn yawned. "Which reminds me... much as I hate to admit I'm worn out from puppets, I'm feelin' horizontal. I'll see you guys tomorrow..."  
  
As if on cue, the group split up, heading in different directions; Willow let out a little wave as she went into the left-hand room. Buffy managed to catch Spike's sleeve before he followed Gunn down the hallway.  
  
"Hey, uh... how about you? Do you live here, too?"  
  
"Oh, _hell_ no. Spent way too much time here back when I was ghosty. Got an apartment of my own."  
  
"Really? I... I'd like to see it sometime..."  
  
_Sometime, meaning tonight... and this is me kind of throwing myself at you..._  
  
Spike laughed harshly. "It's a dump, Slayer. Not worth the tour. Guest suites are cushy, though. Jacuzzis n' whatnot. Nothin' but the best for our evil clients. You'll love it."  
  
He tried to turn, but Buffy kept her hold on his sleeve. "Well... maybe we could go somewhere? Get coffee? Catch up? We haven't really gotten a chance to talk, what with the puppet-battling and..."  
  
"I'm knackered."  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "No, you're not."  
  
"No," he admitted, staring at the floor. "I'm not. Probably go out and get stakey. You know how I like..."  
  
"Your spot o' violence before bedtime?"  
  
That wrung a little smile out of him. "Right."  
  
"I could go with..."  
  
"Slayer," he sighed. "I..."  
  
"Spike. _Don't_." Buffy held up the key Angel'd given her. "C'mon. If the room has a jacuzzi, it's probably got an honor bar. Wanna get drunk on Angel's dime?"  
  
He grinned then, helplessly, and for a moment, the way he used to look at her flickered in his eyes before the wall dropped down. "Probably not a good idea."  
  
"I'll _pout_."  
  
"Will you now? Evil Inc. leadin' you to the dark side already? The pout's the most ferocious weapon in your arsenal."  
  
_Look at that lip. Gonna get it... gonna get it...  
  
_Her knees went a little weak at the memory. "Spike... please?"  
  
The pout got him. HA. Something female inside her did a little victory shriek as she watching his resolve crumple.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell," he sighed. "Lead the way, Slayer. Let's bankrupt Peaches."  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
God, he was being irritating.  
  
Okay, so he wasn't _actually_ being irritating. Which was... irritating.  
  
What he was _being_ was charming and funny, dammit, telling stories about his Wolfram & Hart adventures, his whole face lighting up with the storytelling, his black magic voice weaving itself around her, doing impressions of Angel and the others, all hilarious and adorable and... not hitting on her at _all_, not even the playful way he'd hit on Fred and Willow all during dinner.  
  
She'd stretched out on one side of the bed when they'd entered the room, a deliberate invitation, and he'd chosen the one armchair, all across the room where there was no way for her to 'accidentally' touch him. Like a freakin' castle surrounded by a moat. He hadn't even taken the duster off.  
  
So she'd changed into pyjamas, deliberately picking the ones that showed off the most leg and cleavage possible, lounging on her stomach so he could look down her top, and... nothing. He wasn't even getting drunk; he'd been nursing the same little bottle for _ages_.  
  
And there were his hands, those gorgeous fingers she remembered so well tapping on the edge of the bottle, and _why_ weren't those hands on her? She knew those hands, remembered them so well, how they'd start off cool and shocking, then warm as he soaked up her body heat, his palm sliding up her stomach, his fingers curling into her hair, feather-light skimming caresses and deliberate, exquisite pressure...  
  
And instead of being on her where they belonged, they were being utterly wasted on a tiny bottle of Jack Daniel's and the armrests of his chair. It wasn't _fair_.  
  
Well, she didn't have to fight fair, either.  
  
"Dawn's _insanely_ tall now," she smiled, leaning over to rummage in her duffel bag, pulling out a small photo album. "I've got pictures, if you wanna see..."  
  
His eyes lit up, and he held out his hand.  
  
Nuh-uh, buddy. She opened the album in front of her, flipping through the pages.  
  
_You wanna see pictures? You're coming over here._  
  
He hesitated, gnawed his lip... then rose, sitting stiffly on the bed beside her.  
  
Point 1, Team Buffy. She pushed the album far enough over where he could see it, and he picked it up, tensing to go back to the safety of his chair.  
  
No way. She brazenly plopped her head down on his thigh, and was rewarded with a tiny strangled sound from the back of his throat.  
  
"This is us when we went to Pompeii," Buffy said nonchalantly, flipping pages for him, making damn sure her arm grazed his inner thigh as she did so. "Dawn was so freaked. They have plaster casts of the people, it's really creepy."  
  
"I've been," he replied hoarsely.  
  
"This century?" she asked, taking the opportunity to turn over, wiggling her head in the process.  
  
She'd missed this. Oh, she'd missed this... the way he sucked in air at her touch, the way his lower jaw protruded as his eyes closed, the little muscle at the hinge of his jaw working overtime... and oh God yes, the look in his eyes when they opened again, dark and full of smouldering promises, that look that said he was seconds away from snapping, throwing her into a wall, and fucking her senseless.  
  
Her body seemed full of potential energy, the urge to grind her hips against the mattress becoming overpowering, her fingers itching to touch him, heat growing in her stomach and spreading through her bloodstream...  
  
She was trying to do this right, to do this with respect, to not just take what she wanted, but dammit...  
  
And oh God, he was biting his lip, his fingertips trailing down a photograph, sadness in his eyes.  
  
"Nibblet," he sighed.  
  
Love for her little sister -- endearing and all, yeah, but -- how come Dawn was still "Nibblet" and _she'd_ gone back to being "Slayer"? No 'pet', no 'love', no 'Goldilocks', not even a freakin' 'Buffy'?  
  
Stupid _walls_. She was a _Slayer_ -- walls were for kicking down, and this one... ugh. Subtlety. _So_ not her thing.  
  
"Do you think... maybe you could call her tomorrow? She really misses you."  
  
"I miss her, too."  
  
_But you didn't call her. You didn't call me. You didn't call any of us. You spent months hoping Fred could fix you -- we could have fixed you! Old-school Scooby research party...  
  
_Except that Xander hated him. And Giles hated him. And Willow -- who knew? The only Scoobies who'd seemed fond of him were Tara and Anya, and they were both gone.  
  
Well, Anya'd been a little _too_ fond of him. Grrrr.  
  
And the thought made her put her hand over his on the album... a second of contact before he yanked his hand away.  
  
"Slayer, I... I ought to go. It's late."  
  
She could hear it in his voice; he _didn't_ want to go. He wanted her, wanted this, but something was holding him back... and if she could just figure out what it _was_, maybe she could get rid of it...  
  
Before he left...  
  
Eh. Screw subtle.  
  
"Spike? Can I ask you a question?"  
  
He sighed. "All right."  
  
"What's changed? You act like you hate for me to touch you."  
  
"I don't... hate it. I think you know that."  
  
But he gently set her head back on the mattress, standing up and moving away.  
  
"Then why... I don't understand..."  
  
He winced. "Buffy... the way I feel about you..."  
  
"I _love you_, Spike. How many times do I have to say it before you'll start believing me?"  
  
"Can't do it, Slayer. Told you again and again. Can't love halfway. Never have been able to."  
  
"But... I don't _want_ you to love me halfway..."  
  
"Can't give you everything I have, pet. Can't give you anything without givin' you everything. Kind of an all-or-nothing guy."  
  
"But..."  
  
He locked her eyes with his. "Not when you're savin' the baked cookies for Angel."  
  
The color drained from Buffy's face.  
  
Oh God -- Angel had _told_ him?  
  
"I'll see you in the mornin', Slayer. Pleasant dreams."  
  
The door closed, and he was gone. 


End file.
